


GleePotluckBigBang Prompt Fics

by cinnamont



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2021-01-23 19:56:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21325780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinnamont/pseuds/cinnamont
Summary: Cute little oneshots written for GleePotluckBigBang prompts.
Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel
Kudos: 8





	1. Pumpkin, No Spice, No Latte

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: I want a Meet Cute Klaine Story called Pumpkin, No Spice, No Latte, with Barista Kurt and Pastry Chef Blaine.

“Just write your phone number on his cup?” Mercedes offered unhelpfully as she pulled her puffy coat tighter around herself against the chill autumn wind.

“Yeah, that wouldn’t get me fired,” Kurt moped.

“You got fired?” Santana demanded catching the last word as she and Rachel caught up with them on the corner. “Rent is due next week.”

“How would you know when it’s due, sofa surfer?” Kurt shot back. “And no, I didn’t get fired.”

“Kurt was just talking about his new favorite coffee order,” Mercedes teased.

“I’d think you’d be sick of coffee,” Rachel commented only half listening as she typed out a tweet.

Santana rolled her eyes. “So who has you hot and bothered in your tighty whiteys?”

Kurt ignored the jibe but answered anyway, unable to keep the wistfulness out of his voice. “His name is Blaine and he looks like JFK Jr.’s younger cousin.”

“Is he gay?” Rachel asked finally looking up from her phone. “Because your track record isn’t exactly…..”

He grimaced. “Thank you, I know.” He may never try flirting at NYADA again. How did he manage to zero in on only the only straight male at a theater school? “And, no, I don’t know…. but he wears the most beautiful Hermez scarves with an impeccable navy blue peacoat.”

“And you haven’t humped him over the counter?” Santana sneered.

“Shut up–-”

“Can we - PLEASE–-” Mercedes cut in before she and Kurt could get into yet another exchange of insults, "find some place to go inside, before my ears turn blue.”

“We have to go to Angie’s Bakery,” Rachel declared.

“Absolutely not,” Kurt vetoed. The bakery was down the street from the coffee shop that Kurt worked at. “Their muffins are dry and taste like cardboard.”

“Not anymore,” Rachel overruled him by grabbing him by the arm and steering him down the crowded Manhattan sidewalk. “Artie says they have a new pastry chef and their cupcakes are to die for.”

They entered the pastry shop with a blast of cold air that had the other patrons glaring at them. Santana glared back at them until they turned away.

“Yes! They have hot chocolate,” Mercedes cheered as she looked up at the menu board.

“Don’t you mean white chocolate,” Santana said and got a quick smack in return.

“Rachel, order for me,” Kurt asked, “I need to use the bathroom.”

By the time, he came back out, the girls found a little table and had their treats in front of them. As he pulled up a chair, he demanded, “Where’s mine?”

“It’s coming,” Rachel told him. “It’s a fresh batch right out of the oven.”

“Yowza!” Santana exclaimed causing Rachel to look. Turning doey-eyed, she cooed. “Oh, hello!”

Kurt glanced up to see the man who came into his coffee shop bright and early every morning for the last week and a half. He saw the flash of recognition in the wide hazel eyes as the man smiled down at him. He presented the plate with the frosting tipped cupcake. “Red Velvet with extra sprinkles.”

“Pumpkin, no spice, no latte,” Kurt repeated back and the man’s smile grew several degrees warmer.

“Oh barf,” Santana gagged.

“On the off chance that you’re not gay, my name’s Rachel.” The brunette held out her hand.

“Blaine,” he answered, shaking her hand and letting it go. “Gold star gay.”

“In that case,” Mercedes interjected, “as soon as he puts his eyeballs back into his sockets, Kurt would like to give you his phone number.”

Kurt flushed. “I don’t know any of these women.”

“Does that mean you don’t want to give me your number?” Blaine replied, “Because….” and he pulled a pen out of his apron pocket.

Smiling delightedly, Kurt took the pen and wrote down his number on a napkin and returned both to Blaine.

“Ladies,” Blaine nodded before winking at Kurt. “Enjoy the cupcake.”

“Oh, he definitely wants to enjoy your cupcake–- OW!” Santana glared at Mercedes who grinned back at her after kicking her under the table.

Kurt’s phone buzzed with a text that Kurt added under the name: Pumpkin, no spice, no latte.


	2. First Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day's Trope: Chef/Baker AUs

Kurt spent as much time in the kitchen and table setting as he did on his outfit. When Blaine arrived, dapper and debonair, he brought with him flowers and a set of little white boxes.

He opened the first little box as they sat down at the dining table. “A little amuse busch,” Blaine explained as he lifted out the sweet treat for Kurt to sample.

Kurt let out an embarrassing moan when the flavors melted over his tongue. How inappropriate would it be to lick the box, he thought to himself. Not to be outdone, Kurt served his dish. “Tonight’s entrée: roasted chicken with lemon and oregano.”

“Oh God, Kurt!” Blaine groaned around the mouthful of food.

By the time they got to dessert, Kurt clamped his hand over his mouth.

“Kurt, are you crying?”

“Yes!” he said after swallowing. “We can’t ever date each other!”

Blaine looked hurt. “Why not?”

“We’re going to balloon up like Jabba the Hut,” he cried. “We’ll need a fork-lift to move us!”

Blaine grinned and scooted his chair closer so he could lean in and whisper in his ear. “I guess….” and he placed a kiss just below the lobe, “we’ll have to…” kiss “think of…” kiss “a way to…” kiss “work it off…” kiss

Kurt’s fingers flexed as his toes curled. “That’s–-” and he wanted to collapse into Blaine as his mouth found just the right spot–- “perfect!”

He grabbed Blaine’s hand and pulled him to his feet, heading for the bedroom. “Wait!” he cried and dashed back to the table for the dessert plate.


End file.
